


Those Who Carried On

by dinoburger



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Body Horror, Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Genderqueer Character, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17860850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinoburger/pseuds/dinoburger
Summary: Post Painful.While awaiting news of Brad and the three party members who'd pursued him, Rooster finds himself spending more and more time at the Beehive.Times are getting awfully strange and the world seems to be in a state of increasing decay.





	1. Farm Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Queen sometimes gets she/her pronouns because I feel it.
> 
> Titled after a song of the same name by GHOST because I also feel it.
> 
>  
> 
> (EDIT: I've added in some of my own illustrations too, for the hell of it. The images aren't necessary so if they don't load or whatever it's no big deal)

Rooster Coleman had been living out the apocalypse in relative peace. Aside from the occasional attempted chicken-napping from some desperate soul or drug addled fool who’d wander onto his property.

That was until Brad dragged him out into the world by his feathers. Far from his comfortable solitude he’d met all sorts of weirdos since joining the man on his mad crusade.

Including, as it turned out, the culprit who’d started this mess to begin with. While they’d all been anxiously waiting for news of Brad and the three companions who’d made chase, Dick Dickson casually admitted that he’d pinched Goldie from her coop one night on a drunken dare and dumped her on the hill.

Rooster, red-faced with anger, had given him a very stern scolding. He hoped some of it went through that vacant head of his. Unfortunately, party boy seemed to be on his own wavelength at all times.

Rooster had been prepared to go back to the life of a reclusive chicken farmer after his big adventure. However, he was still inclined to hang around long enough to get updates on what was going on, since he’d already gone to all the trouble.

He never thought he’d be hanging out at a place like the Beehive otherwise.

He’d heard of those strange men who dress in women’s clothing in passing before, but in his secluded life it wasn’t something he’d ever been involved with, or seen much of. Being thrown right into the fray was a bit of a shock.

Rooster hung around with the bees when Brad was busy getting his hands dirty, so to speak. And Queen Roger he’d always found to be sensible, no-nonsense and level-headed. He liked that, they were good qualities in a man… woman?

It didn’t seem to bother them too much either way. He remembered how Roger had instructed something of Terry once, how Terry gave a little salute before stammering off a “Yes ma’am! Sir! Ma’am?!” and how it made Roger laugh.

“Either works, darling.”

Rooster could respect that kind of confidence.

On this particular outing he’d found Roger squatting outside with his back pressed to the wooden wall of the Beehive, blood splattered across his weapon, his bare arms and abdomen, stuck to the wig that hung forward in his wilted posture.

“Someone causin’ trouble?”

Queen shook her head, groaned, heaved herself upright.

“One of my bees turned.” she was fighting to keep her breath steady. “He was with a client too…”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It could have been much worse. Luckily that client was our only casualty.” he pushed his hair out of his face. “Other than… you know. That’s the second one…” Roger muttered.

“Do you know why they get like that?” Rooster asked.

“No clue honey. If I did, I’d make sure it didn’t happen.” he sighed.

Roger turned to him at last, slinging the bat behind his shoulders. “You might wanna come back later. We’re gonna take the body back to the mainland, it’ll be a grizzly business.”

Rooster rolled up his sleeves. “I can handle my fair share of grizzly. Whatever you need me to do I can do it.”

Roger offered a tired smile. “Thank you…”

On their way in, Rooster observed in solemn silence as Roger comforted the other grieving bees.

All that was left of the one who’d turned was beaten, deformed flesh and torn lingerie. Lacking anything like a coffin Roger fished out a large, old sheet to wrap up the body with, he and Rooster took an end each to haul back to the mainland. The remaining bees followed in procession.

Once they’d picked through the marsh and stumbled through the tunnel, Rooster couldn’t help but notice the other bodies they passed, left to rot where they’d been slain.

It was almost ironic they’d come back to this corpse strewn land for a burial.

* * *

Rooster spent most of the mourning standing around awkwardly. He wasn’t all too good at giving comfort.

It was wearing well into the afternoon, but he felt obliged to make sure there was a safe return to the marshlands. The other bees returned through the tunnel with Rooster and Queen following behind, only to find someone waiting for them at the other end.

The small man cleared his throat and looked at them imploringly. “Erm…”

“What?” Worse for wear, Roger was in no mood for small talk.

“We’re having a bit of an issue of our own at the bar, I’ve seen how well you deal with those... things.” the barkeeper explained.

Roger wrinkled his pointed nose. “That ‘thing’ was a part of my family. Whatever you got isn’t my problem.”

“Could you at least just… take a look?”

Rooster crossed his arms and glanced up at Queen, who relented.

“Fine.”

Those who would usually be at the bar were standing along the muddy bank while Roger and Rooster trudged past, the bar man giving them plenty of space.

Queen sucked in a breath. “Oh. Oh you’ve got to be fucking _kidding_ me.”

There was an eerie tune playing out over the now deserted bar. The old record player spun gently, and at its base, a tall, cloaked man was sitting calmly. Rather than the usual diving helmet perched atop his head, his neck distended like a thick rope, snaking down from his shoulders and falling loose and heavy across the ground.

The helmet lay a little way away, its opening bulged with bloated flesh where it connected to the twisty length of over-stretched neck.

Queen approached it with heavy steps. His stomach curdled as he peered into the dark glass. It was hard to see with the glare from the sky but he could make out the faint impression of something pressed up from the inside.

“...Has he hurt anyone?” Rooster asked.

“No.” the barkeeper replied. “He’s gotten more aggressive when anyone tries to approach the record player… but other than that, no.”

“Then what the hell do you need us for?” Roger snapped.

“I thought it might be kind of you to put him out of his misery.”

Roger didn’t answer. When he turned back his shoulders were slumped in defeat.

“...Maybe we can leave him for now.” the bar man decided.

“Mh.” Rooster gave a short nod.

He walked her back in silence. Roger’s lanky, muscular body was hunched over itself.

When she stopped, her face blank and desolate, tears fell from her heavy lashes without a sound.

She sighed raggedly.

After a moment, Rooster reached out to rest a sturdy hand on her back. He watched her fish around in her pocket, take out a small, blue pill and swallow it.

“I have _got_ to get my shit together. They’re counting on me.”

“That’s… that stuff.” Rooster couldn’t remember the name, but he’d seen it before.

“Joy. It’s not pretty, but it gets me out of bed in the morning and keeps me going. I think that’s all that matters right now.”

The aching grief dissolved as it took effect. Roger straightened, wiped her tears away, and marched herself grimly home.


	2. Fish Boy

After helping Roger scrub blood off the floorboards, Rooster returned to his chickens. That lifestyle of calm and comfort called to him and he direly wanted to go on how he always had.

But he’d seen too much now to settle, it disturbed him. He was still itching to know what it had been really worth.

He never neglected to tend to his chickens but made sure to make time whenever he could to see how things were on the outside.

“Still no news?”

Queen shook his head. “Whatever happened out there… it’s radio static silence. Nobody knows nothing.”

“Weird.”

They’d taken a fairly relaxing stroll through the marsh, with only a few overly aggressive snakes needing to be beaten into the mud.

A yelp and the sound of gunfire broke the peace. The two perked up, taking a hurried pace through the mist.

Flashes of orange erupted, Harvey’s petite form partially hidden amongst the reeds. He was sobbing, stumbling backwards, his fins having troubled aim with his weapon.

His target took little notice. It lurched forward, grasping and groping, it’s masked head askew on a lop-sided, bulging torso, covered with tattoos.

It’s burbles were no longer of fishman dialect, mere sounds, slurring into groans.

As Harvey fell back in fitful sobs Queen popped a pill in one clean motion and lunged into the fray, bellowing in outrage.

The mutated Carp was beaten back by a barrage of blows with his bat. He slammed an irregular rhythm, hammering mercilessly, mouth wide open in a scream. The mutant was resistant but forced back by his sheer ferocity.

Harvey was still crying softly, his jellied eyes dripping, Rooster remained frozen in place.

Queen was seeing red.

Everything was bleeding together into nothing but flashing sparks behind his eyes. Bursting blinding impulse, beating into the numbing humming thrum of the joy buzzing inside him.

Queen didn’t notice he’d blacked out until he blinked, his cheeks pressed to the moist marshland earth, collapsed.

Rooster was crouched by his side. “Uh, hey.”

Roger grunted and pulled himself upright to sit.

Standing around them were more fishmen than Roger had ever seen on the surface at once. Apart from the blood on the reeds, there was no sign of Carp.

Harvey stepped forward. “Thank you, you really saved my bacon. Don’t think I could’ve taken him on my own.”

There was a pause, with only the fishmen burbling to one another.

“As far our friend… it seems they’ve took him for a proper fishman burial.” Harvey explained. “I think… he would want that.”

Roger nodded gravely.

He stood to full height, taller than anyone else there. The eyes of every fishman turned to him. Quiet, but for the rustling of the reeds.

He raised his fist. A strong, solid expression of solidarity. The fishmen erupted into burbling, gargling cries, jumping up and down.

* * *

The procession of fishmen was much grander. For starters, they had a proper casket bound by sticks and wood, hoisted up on wooden poles. Rooster and Roger took up the rear, sometimes needing to crouch under more constricted areas of the damp cavern.

The fishmen maneuvered the makeshift coffin all the way through with ease. In the drier areas there were lit candles lined in cavities and along the edges.

It went on past the village, through the utter darkness of confined tunnels, into passages where the water level was up around Roger’s waist. They walked in silence with only the sound of feet and fins and the echoes of moving water. Through places where faint reflections of light danced from the murky shallows.

They emerged somewhere at the far edges of the marsh where the land was flatter and more solid. There were mounds of earth spaced reasonably far apart from one another and marked with sticks.

As they walked to the freshly dug out grave, Roger gazed off into the horizon and wondered where exactly this place was respective of the Beehive.

He could see the land grow more uneven like he was used to way out in the faded distance, still pools lying between, but no familiar landmarks.

Perhaps it was better not to know, out of respect.

The procession stopped at the grave site, and the leader went on a long, garbling speech while all gathered around and listened.

* * *

“Never thought I’d take part in a fishman funeral.” Rooster remarked quietly on their return journey, still trying to hoist up his badly dampened poncho as much as possible while wading through.

“I don’t know. I guess us bees and fish have always had something of an understanding for one another…” Queen mused. “We’re considered oddities, but really all we want is to be left in peace.”

“That’s reasonable."

The space between them was filled by water swishing around their legs as they travelled in blackness.

“...I want to be able to protect my family, the family I have left.” Roger spoke into the dark. “But I don’t know how, or even if I can.”

Rooster felt his throat go tight.

“The flash… it took so much away from me. Women who were my idols and inspirations, women I considered my sisters. Women who considered me one of them. I can’t comprehend the scale of such a tragedy, not like all the useless perverts who- who do nothing but bemoan all the sex they won’t be having.” Rooster could hear the snarl in his voice.

“But I was devastated. The world lost so many good people, the only thing that made that ache go away… was the joy.” Roger strained with grief as he went on. “I didn’t think I could keep losing more and more. I thought, after so long, I’d finally found a home, somewhere safe… I consider Brad, and all of you to some extent, to be a part of that family.”

“All I want, with every fibre of my being… is to protect my family.”

“...You consider me part of your family?” Rooster echoed.

“Of course, we’ve fought alongside each other.”

“...hm.”

As they waded out of the dark, a smile showed at Roger’s lips. “What about you farm boy? You don’t talk much about yourself.”

Rooster shrugged. “I’ve always just had my chickens, they’re my family. Never needed much else. Everyone can mind their business and I’ll mind mine.”

“Sounds lonely.”

Rooster frowned. “I wouldn’t say that.” he said under his breath.

* * *

Queen sat on the bed. She pulled off her wig, running her hand over her bristly, shaven scalp.

Rooster stood by the curtained doorway uncertainly, inching along the edge of the room. He felt like he wasn’t supposed to see her like this.

Roger laughed. “Don’t look so nervous sweetheart, come.” she patted the bed.

Rooster sat beside her, grunting as the relief to his aching dampened limbs hit him. He peeled away his wet poncho, baring himself so that Roger got a perfect view of his stocky figure smattered with thick red hair across his arms and chest.

“Oh my.” The grin Queen was shooting him would’ve made his feathers bristle.

Satisfied with seeing him flustered, Queen stretched back. Rooster did too.

He enjoyed just laying there beside him. His gaze wandered over the toned shapes of Queen’s body, his dark eyes and thick lashes, strong cheekbones. Strangely handsome.

Roger shifted to undo his bra.

“I don’t know Roo… I worry sometimes.” he tossed it aside. “What’ll happen to my bees if something happens to me?”

“What’s gonna happen to you?”

“Anything could…”

“Whoever’d even try would have me to go through first.”

“I thought you only cared for poultry?” Roger teased.

“I did…” he admitted. “but I didn’t think there were any good, self-respecting men left in the world either. Getting to know you better made me realise I was wrong.”

Queen hummed in content. “I knew you kept coming back for a reason.”

“...I think I love you, Roger.”

“Wouldn’t be the first.” Roger turned back onto his side, moving in closer.

Rooster responded in turn, bridging the short distance between them. They kissed long and soft and slow.

He had no idea someone so hardened and tough could feel so soft tangled up together with him.


	3. Lonely Boy

Rooster left early that morning to check on his chickens, gently prying himself away from Roger and leaving a small kiss on the top of his head as one last goodbye.

Not like him to get so mushy. Not like him to still be thinking about someone while feeding the hens.

Part of him quietly hoped he could make it back to that bed before Roger woke up, but he knew it was unlikely. He’d wake up alone and get on with his day.

Wouldn’t stop Rooster from going back to check in on him. Again.

Was he really that lonely after all, or just… smitten? Or both, possibly.

As he made his way through the mist Rooster slowed, then stopped in his tracks.

The wooden board path outside the beehive was littered with bodies. Maybe seven or eight of them.

Matching outfits, a gang of some sort. None of them were bees, who were watching from the safety of the hive.

The only figure left standing, hunched and heaving, caked in blood, was Roger himself. He was laced with wounds of all kinds, including what appeared to be bullet holes. He moved slow, reaching to his side. Unceremoniously he yanked out a dagger buried there and let it clatter to the ground. He lumbered back into the Beehive, oozing a trail of blood behind him, his bat dragging.

Rooster followed cautiously, talking to some of the anxious bees by the door as he surveyed the damage. “What’s going on?”

“We think they were trying to raid the hive, but, Roger came…”

“He fought them back…”

“On his own?” Not possible, Rooster didn’t think so.

“He was taking a lot of those blue pills to keep him going.”

Rooster grimaced. That couldn’t be good.

As Roger staggered down the wood corridor he let the bat slip from his loose grip. He’d lost quite a lot of blood, but he wasn’t feeling drained. All the joy in his system was welling up, a hot pressure that pushed around under his skin threatening to burst out of him.

He’d turned to the nearest room and fallen into the bed, letting it wash over him in waves, his mind thrumming louder and louder with only deep, animal impulse. Pulsing, writhing.

“Roger…” Rooster knelt by the bed next to him. “It’s okay now, we’ll patch ya up good as new.” he gently pushed Roger’s wig out of his eyes.

“Roo… mnh… sorry…”

“For what?”

“...want to… give in… I can’t…” Roger huffed, trying to string something together from his muddled head. “I’m… I’m not bad for giving in, am I…?” he whispered.

Rooster shook his head. “No.”

“I’m… not… weak?”

“You’re one of the strongest men I’ve ever met.” Rooster took one of Roger’s gloved hands in two of his own and kissed his fingers.

Roger smiled, letting go a breath of relief. “Good…”

“I’ll take care of you, so don’t worry about a thing. You’re… you’re my family. I want you to rest up.”

Rooster only left his side as one of the bees started to tend to Roger’s wounds.

“There’s more bandages and supplies upstairs, could you be a dear and grab those for me?” they asked softly.

Rooster nodded.

“Thanks sugar.”

He still wasn’t totally sure where to find anything that specific. It took a while of scrambling around before he’d managed to dig up anything useful. He got what he could and hopped back down.

The bee that’d been treating Roger was out in the corridor now, their back against the wall opposite, fixed on the room.

The curtain parted. Lazily, a blonde wig on the end of a long, distorted torso crawled through the frame.

The thing that was once Roger crawled forward on its arms, its hideously extended body craning up towards the ceiling.

Rooster let go of the medical supplies. He tensed. His stomach tied itself in knots as he prepared for a fight.

It idly twisted its neck to him. Its gaze was blank, set with those heavy lashes, that handsome face.

Rooster held his breath.

It shuddered and sputtered, coughing up more blood onto the already dirtied floor, oozing from its gaping mouth. Then it went on staring. Unchanging, even as tears dripped down its cheeks.

While guarding from the anticipated attack Rooster noticed there was just enough floor space for him to dart past. Taking it unaware, he got himself between Roger and the frozen bee.

“Queen Roger…” they muttered.

“Get out of here.” Rooster commanded.

The bee seemed stuck in place as Roger twisted towards them again.

“GO ON! GO!” Rooster cried, shooing them back to the exit.

Their dash for the door however was cut short as another figure leapt from the room just in front of them.

Another warped body, scantily clad. This one shrieked. Rooster’s heart pounded and his chest squeezed.

Trapped on both sides.

This mutant was smaller than the heaving, bloated Queen, more agile, and it charged dead-on gnashing its teeth and howling.

Transfixed by the beast coming at them Rooster didn’t see Roger rearing up behind.

As it was upon them, Roger arched over and lunged.

The beast went down. Roger tore out its throat with his teeth.

It hung limp from his jaws, gurgling and dying on the spot.

Taking the distraction Rooster scooped the bee up in his arms and made it out the last stretch, out the door and onto the marsh.

He set them back on their feet outside.

“You alright?”

They wore a look of utter devastation and shock, but nodded slowly. “...yeah.”

Rooster swallowed hard. The curtain of the Beehive betrayed nothing, everything was silent. He peered in through just a crack.

Roger’s upper body was lying on the floor, collapsed, fixing a wide empty stare into open space while tears continued rolling down his face.

Rooster couldn’t look anymore.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen mutants attack each other like that before either. Rooster left the remaining bees to talk among themselves about what to do, he’d had enough.

* * *

Rooster was in the habit of keeping a small stack of mags on his person, just in case. Some folks would trade them off to him for fresh eggs, and in turn he’d buy himself a drink every now and again.

This felt like a good time for it.

Normalcy had returned to the bar, the fairy lights had come on in the fading early evening. The barkeeper was serving, people were chatting, drinking.

And Bo was still sitting there next to the record player. Had his neck gotten longer since last time?

“We’ve sort of gotten used to him again.”

“I see.”

It wasn’t a bad atmosphere, but Rooster felt uneasy. There was an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to go home to his chickens, so he took his drink and left.

Back through the tunnel, where someone groped him in the dark. He shoved them off and pressed on.

Across the mainland. It was disturbingly quiet out here. Not even that lonesome trumpet echoing off the land, the way it used to. He realised it’d been some days since he’d heard it, only having registered it as background noise before.

Making his way back in utter silence did nothing for his unease.

The familiar clucking of his hens, however, was a relief. The sound of home. He checked to make sure nothing had happened while he was gone, all in one piece.

Good.

Home. Safe.

He sat cross legged, letting one of them onto his lap and stroking her feathers.

Rooster wasn’t an emotional man at the best of times. He was simple and straightforward. He did what needed to be done, and that was that. For him, that meant mostly tending to his chickens.

It was the simple, solitary lifestyle he’d always led, living only for himself.

He didn’t cry when he read books or watched movies on the little old TV. The lives of those characters were too otherly for him to relate to.

He hardly even cried at funerals. Maybe the last time he could remember was the few tears he’d shed when his father and mother had passed.

But as he sat there in the darkness of the room, his brow furrowed, his face flushed hot and his shoulders shook. He wheezed out breathy, huffing sobs.

He covered his face with his hands.

Family… that’s what Roger considered him.

How could he go back to living alone after that?

* * *

He didn’t know what to do with the bodies. He dragged them away from the entrance of the Beehive.

Along with weapons that fell from them, cans of spray paint rolled away. Had they planned to vandalise the place too?

Rooster frowned, kicking one into the marsh.

There was a single bee, no longer in revealing lingerie but the typical, dull attire of post-apocalypse Olathe, smoking on the upper floor, watching him clean the outside.

When he finally worked up the nerve to check, he saw the mutated bee’s body was gone.

Roger was more or less in the same position he’d been left in, with the blood drying and sticking to him. For the second time in about a week Rooster set about scrubbing blood from the floorboards, this time while the dazed mutant watched.

The bee re-entered the building after a while and stood around at the end of the corridor. He took a long drag of his cigarette.

Rooster looked up briefly from his work to address him. “Where are the others?”

“Gone.” He puffed out a cloud of smoke.

“...they coming back?”

The bee shook his head. “Nobody has the heart to put our poor Queen down, and we can’t work here like this. So we’re calling it off for now. Who knows what’ll happen to this place in the meantime.”

Rooster paused. “I could always take care of it for you. That is… as long as I can bring my chickens…”

The ex-bee laughed. “Do whatever you want honey. All yours, good luck with this big lug.” they strode past him.

“Thanks.”

Roger was more cooperative than he’d expected. He let him clean him off and tend to his wounds. He only occasionally convulsed to cough up more blood.

He didn’t think he could trust him with the chickens just yet. Or at least unsupervised.

Rooster went about renovating and fencing off areas, moving the coops in. They had even more space out here.

Looking after Roger became another part of his usual routine.

In a funny way, he was slightly less alone after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're lucky you might get an epilogue. for now I'm leaving this.
> 
> oh oh, I forgot to mention I've also done doodles specifically related to this work on my tumblr @dinoburger if ya wanna check those out!
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


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